Over the Tree and Back
by a.lakewood
Summary: Dean wasn’t sure how to explain loss and sadness and grief to a fiveyearold when he sometimes couldn’t completely grasp the ideas himself.


Title: Over the Tree and Back

Author: alakewood  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: None, really. Maybe a spoiler for the pilot.  
Characters: Dean, Sam  
Summary: _Dean wasn't sure how to explain loss and sadness and grief to a five-year-old when he sometimes couldn't completely grasp the ideas himself._  
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.  
A/N: I'm not 100 happy with this – feels like I'm missing something.

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Dean coiled the rope in a loose circle from his elbow to his hand, and the memory returned to him, completely unbidden and clear as day.

Some big scary guy had come to their door. John answered it and asked Dean to take Sammy outside.

There was an old swing tied to the tree in their backyard with rope that was so worn it barely held Sam's weight on the wooden slat of the seat.

Sam went running for it at full speed. "I want an underdog, Dean!" he shouted with a giggle. "Over the tree and back."

This was their game. Sam's "trip" would take them into a land of make-believe of his choosing. The last time, they'd gone to outerspace and fought weird monsters like their dad.

Dean pulled Sam back, "Where to today, Sammy?"

Dean faltered only slightly on his follow-through when Sam responded: "To Heaven, to visit Mommy."

Dean took the second coil of rope and tossed it over the branch. Felt the friction of it sliding through his fist.

Dean turned, grasping the ropes so hard and so fast that he not only got rope burn, but knocked Sam off the swing, Sam's small body crashing into his.

From the ground where they'd landed, Sam looked up at him with wide, teary eyes. His bottom lip quivered and his tiny nostrils flared as he hiccupped a couple of breaths, trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, Dean," he apologized, soft brow furrowed with confusion.

His guilt came back tenfold. It had been an unspoken agreement among the Winchester men to never mention Mary. Of course, Dean had always known that Sam would one day wonder about his mother – what had happened to her, what she was like.

Dean barely remembered her himself. But he still had no right to react that way – especially with Sammy.

Truth was, there was only so much he had of his mother, and he didn't want to share it. His memories were _his_. And that was all he had of her.

He pulled his brother to his chest, stroking his hair. "No, _I'm_ sorry, buddy. I shouldn't've…We just don't talk about Mommy."

Sam sniffled, craning his head back to look up at Dean without ending their hug. "Why?"

Dean shrugged. "It makes Dad sad."

"Why?"

"Because…" Dean wasn't sure how to explain loss and sadness and grief to a five-year-old when he sometimes couldn't completely grasp the ideas himself. It made his heart hurt in a funny way to think about that night. And it only took him seconds to recognize that hollow emptiness in his father's eyes that meant thoughts of Mary.

"Because Mommy died?" He cocked his head to the side, eyebrows arched with curiosity. He was so innocent, and would somehow manage to retain that quality until he was much older.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly. "You want me to tell you what she was like?" Offering the only thing he'd ever kept for himself.

Sammy smiled, all chapped lips and teeth and dimples.

"Remember the last apartment we were in, when Mrs. Walker – the lady across the hall from us? When she'd wash our clothes?" Sam nodded. "Remember how they smelled?" Sam nodded again. "That's what Mom smelled like. Like…clean. And outside." Dean paused to think. "Close your eyes," he instructed.

Sam obeyed, dark eyelashes fanning across his pink cheeks.

"You feel how the sun makes you all warm? You can feel it on your face and just everywhere? That's how she felt." He closed his eyes, too, and took a deep breath of the crisp, early autumn air.

A snapping twig behind him alerted Dean to somebody else's presence. He turned to find Sam standing there, watching carefully.

Sam kept his distance, reaching out a hand, fingers splayed. _Calm down_, the gesture said. "Dean. What're you doing?"

Dean gave the rope another tug, looked up at it pensively. Bent down to retrieve the thick wooden board from the grass near his feet. He motioned towards the house, around the general area, with the board. "You don't remember this place?" he asked, somewhat sidestepping Sam's question.

"Dean?" Sam didn't have a clue as to what was going on.

"This house? This tree? None of it's familiar?"

The sun was starting to set; the shadows falling across the overgrown yard and dilapidated house did not help to invoke a memory. Sam shrugged, inching closer to his brother.

Dean fitted the ends of the ropes through the holes in the board, knotting them tightly, made sure it was level as he tested his weight on it. He gave the swing a small shove in Sam's direction. "Nothing?"

He stared at Dean, _something_ hovering just on the edge of his memory. He shook his head, trying to bring it to the surface. Slowly, pieces fell into place.

Still smiling, Sammy had leaned back into Dean's chest, arms hugging him tightly again.

"That feeling," Dean started, returning the hug, "that's called love. Nobody – _nothing_, not even dying – can take that away." He squeezed just a little more firmly.

The wooden slat knocked Sam in the shins as he stepped even closer. Gave the swing a little push back in Dean's direction. "I think I might be too big for an underdog," he said with a smirk.

Dean smiled in reply, corners of his eyes wrinkling slightly. "Yeah. Just a little."

Sam's smirk stretched into a grin, accented by his dimples. "I can't believe I forgot about this house."

"You were only five."

Sam cautiously sat down, branch dipping just a little under his weight. Felt Dean's hands, firm and warm on his back, give him a push.

"You had the most over-active imagination."

He laughed, remember the game he'd made up that Dean would tolerate. "At least I didn't think I was like that kid in that claymation cartoon – Inside-Out Boy? Remember?"

"Vaguely."

"Where all did we go?"

"Africa. Fought lions. Went up against sharks, too. Outerspace. All over, Sammy."

"Huh."

"The last time we ever played, though…" Dean was quiet for a moment, still pushing Sam lightly. "We moved again really soon after. But, the last time, you remember where you wanted to go?"

He shrugged, toes of his shoes trailing in the grass. "I don't know, Dean."

"You said that you wanted to go to Heaven. Go see Mom."

They were both silent for a long time, darkness creeping closer. "It was fall, yeah?"

Another push. "Yeah."

"You described Mom for me."

"Yeah."

"Funny thing? That's how I remember _you_."

Sammy pressed his face against Dean's shoulder, smelling the wind and trees and sunshine. Felt the warmth trapped between them. He wouldn't ever remember their mother, wouldn't know what her love was like. But he knew Dean's.

"Look, Sam. Sammy." Dean shook his head, unsure of what he was trying to say. Moved around to stand in front of his brother. "This deal…I'm going to – I'm gonna die. But it's not – They can't…" Frustrated, he turned his gaze up to Sam's, looked at him helplessly.

Sam nodded, somehow understanding the feeling that Dean couldn't express with words. "I love you, too."


End file.
